Walking further into Northeast, yesterday, after coffee at Starbucks, the Camry still in their lot, having decided to walk from NE 15th to MLK on Beech, up a block, and back on Falling. It feels important you know this, as does the fact I rarely use my car anymore. It began maybe five weeks ago out from a place of not wanting to arrive at the road sign which points “Food” one way, “Gas” the other. Pick one. Seems reasonable. As is so often the case, though, the primary focus of cold cash has fallen behind the experience of living a life without a car most of the time. There’s been a real squeeze down to a very succinct, pinpoint view of the day, and a blossoming spaciousness which chuckles at the thought of words as adjectives to “describe” “it.”
So, back to yesterday, I’ve walked the length of Beech and am strolling the return on Falling when peripheral vision swoops me from the middle of the road to the sidewalk close by a tree-filled house, and to this in an enclosed-glass signpost:
How lovely to stroll into a thing like this on a lazybones Thursday morning. For free.
Sometimes, and I guess most times these days, my sense of shrinking separateness from it all is mostly connected with “things,” possibly insentient beings, more than folks. (Though I do have conversations with about-to-be-brides and their bridal bouquets with the ease of walking down a hill.) So, there was no surprise when I hung a right back onto 15th and came upon these:
How am I not them? They not me?
Gina told me yesterday she fell in love with her cereal while on a retreat. I knew exactly entirely completely what she meant. And I don’t eat cereal.
What is the purpose of a human life?
from a mountain bench 
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